“On the contrary, I’m perfectly calm. This is my person, Finn. I’m sure of it.”
Or maybe it’s the pollen. Don’t know, don’t care. I’m staying.
Another pause, and then Finn huffs, “Listen, don’t do anything rash. I’m coming up there to meet this girl to make sure everything is on the level before you make another mistake.”
The not-so gentle reminder of my past hits me in the gut. But I understand his concern.
“I’ve got nothing for her to steal. Besides, she owns a beautiful old house—I’m renting the carriage house in the back—and she has her own dressmaking business. She’s not after my money. She should be the one worried that I might be a gold digger, not the other way around.”
Finn scoffs. “Which you’re not.”
“Exactly.”
“Sit tight. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“That’s fine, but you won’t find a single hotel room open within forty miles,” I warn him.
“Not staying. Just making sure you’re okay, and to look this woman in the eye. Then, I’m leaving. That’s it.”
I hang up and continue on my way back home. Well, not home-home. Back to my temporary home.
If you told me yesterday I would be fetching food, unsolicited, for the owner of my vacation rental, I would tell you that’d be a huge crossing of a boundary. But right now it seems like the most natural thing in the world. We’ve already broken bread together and plan to do so again in the morning. She let it be known that she frequently forgets to eat. And on top of that, I’ve already fallen for her hook, line and sinker.
When I knock, Iris opens the door to her studio with a smile, though she looks tired.
“Hi! Did you need something? Did I forget something? Are you missing pillows?”
Without thinking, I reach up and press my finger over her lips to quiet her. Big mistake. Touching her soft lips has made me instantly hard. The surprised look and the blush in her cheeks make that sudden erection even worse.
I pull my hand away, pretending what I just did was normal for me. “I couldn’t stomach the idea of you eating a tofu dog so I brought you falafel,” I say, holding up the bag in my other hand.
Her nostrils flare and she looks down at the large paper bag. Her eyes dance as she smiles at me. “Is that what I smell?”
I nod.
She takes the bag and opens it, sticking her face into the opening.
“Gosh, that smells amazing! But that is a ton of food.”
“You’ll have leftovers, then,” I say.
Iris squints at me, then steps aside, holds open the studio door, and says the words I had not dared to hope she would say.
“Come on inside.”
Eight
Iris
“Leftovers, my eye,” I laugh, setting the bag down on the cloth cutting table next to a mountain of fabric scraps that need organizing. “Pull up a chair and have dinner with me.”
Oliver doesn’t move. He stares at the mannequin with Rebecca Wright’s wedding dress on it, the one I’m almost finished sewing the crystals onto.
“You made that?” Oliver asks.
He seems to take way more notice of the dress than the last guy I dated did when he visited my studio.
“Yes. I designed it, actually. With the bride’s input, of course.”
